


remember me

by dzesi



Category: The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Dreams, F/F, Hallucinations, Making Out, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 10:15:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29276802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dzesi/pseuds/dzesi
Summary: “what is this, anyway? dream? hallucination? something else?”“yep,” gideon says, completely unhelpful. “here’s the only part that i know: you’ve still got me rattling around in there somewhere,” she says, flicking harrow on the forehead.they must have known each other very well, for her to do something so shameless—and apparently without any expectation whatsoever of getting obliterated into bone shards.
Relationships: Gideon Nav/Harrowhark Nonagesimus
Comments: 5
Kudos: 25
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 6





	remember me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lonelywalker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonelywalker/gifts).



when harrowhark opens her eyes, she’s sitting on some kind of garishly over-elegant throne in a large empty room full of bones. glancing down, she finds herself in the single most badass motherfucking dress she’s ever seen in her life. she’s never seen it before, and a prickle of fear skitters up her spine. she tries to raise a few skeletons to make herself feel better, but all she can feel is an unsettling thanergetic lack—something here isn’t right. 

“oh, calm your tits, won’t you?” someone snipes from somewhere generally behind her. their voice is pitched gruff over a wry, musical timbre. harrow twists in her skeletal seat to look as they circle, and immediately sees her own gaunt face reflected back in those goddamn aviators. 

“excuse me?” 

“i said,” the someone—who is extremely familiar but whose name (and also matching skull-painted face and also all other identifying details) seems exceedingly slippery to hold onto—says slowly and almost gently, like talking to an especially dumb toddler, “calm. your. tits.” 

“i don’t—” harrow starts to scoff, but this person has the audacity to reach for her, to _touch_ her, one heavy hand on her shoulder, warm enough to feel even through her badass dress and the shock of it steals the words right out of her open mouth. 

“look,” they say, lifting mirrored shades to perch on the top of their head. dull, tired eyes meet harrow’s own, but they’re softened by the quirk of a brow. “it’s me. it’s gideon— _griddle_ —but we’ve been over this, we do this every time and i know you’re not gonna remember, anyway; you did too good of a job with your necromantic fucking lobotomy.”

harrow gapes, at a total loss to remember even one single word she might say in response, and the person—gideon— _griddle_ —huffs out a dry, sad little laugh.

“it’s fine,” gideon says, letting her sunglasses fall back down over her eyes like a portcullis plummeting shut and letting go of harrow’s shoulder. “i mean, aside from the fact that literally every bit of it’s your fault, down to the fact that you won’t stop _dreaming_ about me, even after cutting me all the way out of your spooky little head, but. maybe i knew what i was signing up for.”

“i don’t understand,” harrow says faintly, wishing she could see those eyes again, like that’s going to unlock something. for some reason, she reaches for gideon’s hand, seeking out that warmth. it feels important.

“i know,” gideon sighs, giving harrow’s cold hand a squeeze. “just… since you never remember the whats or the whys or the whatever-the-fucks anyway… will you trust me?”

harrow studies her. gideon’s comparatively enormous—her biceps alone are the size of harrow’s face. if she’d wanted harrow hurt or dead, she probably would’ve already made a move. and she doesn’t sense any trace of magical ability whatsoever, so any move she’d make would definitely have been physical.

her ninth-house paint is cracking but capable. they must have known one another—and judging by the close, careful, protective way gideon is standing at her elbow, they must have known each other well. does she trust her?

“yes,” harrow says, decisively. what else is there to do? 

“what is this, anyway? dream? hallucination? something else?”

“yep,” gideon says, completely unhelpful. “here’s the only part that i know: you’ve still got me rattling around in there somewhere,” she says, flicking harrow on the forehead. 

they must have known each other _very_ well, for her to do something so shameless—and apparently without any expectation whatsoever of getting obliterated into bone shards.

“...and every once in a while,” gideon continues, her hand coming back toward harrow’s face again, “you come here and visit me.” harrow flinches, but gideon just brushes back a few stray hairs, touch lingering. “you always give yourself a different dress, though. i think this is probably one of the hotter ones.”

hotter… ones? harrow’s mouth goes dry as she swallows back a little _oh_ moment. this is a stupid dream, but maybe it’ll have a happy ending, after all. she finds herself standing up, stepping away from her perilous chair and toward the edge of its peculiar dais.

meanwhile, gideon’s still saying things. “sometimes you show up looking like a little bone witch that just wants to fight,” she says, offering harrow a hand, then drawing her close. “but sometimes you show up looking like a little bone witch that wants something else.” 

“what about you?” harrow croaks out, letting herself be held by this stranger she’s trusting because none of it’s real, anyway. “what do _you_ want?” 

gideon smirks down at her. “me? i kinda wanna sit on your bone throne. can i?”

-

the _bone throne_ , as gideon has so charmingly dubbed it, is more than large enough for both of them—especially with harrow’s knees on either side of gideon’s hips. 

it’s a dream, she tells herself, over and over again, as they smear greasepaint between their faces. their breath gets ragged between increasingly urgent kisses, echoing around the dim, ill-defined space harrow doesn’t care enough to want to explore. 

“is this usually how it goes, when i come to visit?” harrow breathes as gideon’s mouth follows the line of her throat down to her sharp collarbones, jutting out of her skeletal bodice.

gideon laughs into her neck, a hot sharp exhale that makes harrow shiver. “only when i’m _really_ lucky.”

harrow’s fingertips find the gap in gideon’s clothing, slipping up her waist to the broad ridges of her ribcage, the soft undersides of her shallow breasts. she gets to hear gideon’s breath catch, which is satisfying, even if it’s her own lucid dream making it happen. 

gideon shifts them, gathering harrow’s elaborately layered skirts until she can finally run a hand up her bare thigh. harrow shifts, spreads her legs minutely further, almost embarrassed by how willing she is to try to grant better access. 

gideon chuckles and obliges her, slipping her hand up higher until the backs of her knuckles brush close to where harrow wants so badly to be touched. “yeah?” 

“yes, please, _obviously_ yes,” harrow murmurs, rolling her eyes before they flutter closed as gideon’s long fingers slide smoothly all the way up and back down, gently unfolding harrow’s sex like it’s familiar, like she’s done it a thousand times before. gideon places the hand that’s not finding its home between harrowhark’s legs to circle the back of harrow’s neck, massaging into her hairline, pulling her face close for another kiss.

all the hard work harrow had been doing on gideon’s tits ceases the moment gideon finally makes proper contact with her clit, and she gasps into her mouth, melting even closer as gideon’s fingers find an improbably perfect rhythm, almost but not quite ever sinking deeper with each slick stroke. 

“you’re so—” 

“don’t,” harrow cuts gideon off before she can say it. she knows what she’s about to say, like she’s heard it already. like she’s heard it already? 

too soon, harrow’s hips are bucking into gideon’s hand, grinding down as she refocuses the pressure and she bites down against gideon’s lip, tasting greasepaint. she twitches, not quite close enough, like gideon’s holding her back, like she’s waiting for something.

“what are you,” harrow huffs, agitated, “waiting for?”

gideon has a sad, crooked smile on her face. “you usually remember, for a moment,” she murmurs, taking her free hand off the back of harrow’s neck and catching her chin between finger and thumb instead, forcing eye contact, “right… about… now.”

harrow’s body shakes, desperate, and she crumples against gideon’s chest as she finally comes undone. her head briefly fills with swords and water and secrets and sacrifice, and then she breaks into tears.

-

“i’m sorry, griddle,” harrow whispers, pressing kisses into the soft red buzz of hair at gideon’s temple. 

“i know,” gideon murmurs, wiping harrow’s cheek. 

“i’m going to forget again,” harrow whispers, “when i wake up.”

“i know.”

gideon holds her so tight they can feel each others’ hearts, pounding away inside the twin cages of their ribs. “but i’m always with you, whether you remember me or not. okay?”

harrowhark nods, sniffling, for once letting herself feel as small and young as she is. 

“and every now and then, i get to have you again, just like this.”

harrow’s eyes are blurry, but whether it’s tears or sleep, it’s hard to say. “is that… can that be enough?” 

gideon kisses her one last time as she falls asleep in her lap.

“yeah. it’s enough.”

**Author's Note:**

> i'd never written any locked tomb fic before this, so i will confess i was a little nervous. i hope you enjoyed it! <3


End file.
